


Helmed Man's Bluff

by Mandaloria593



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mayfeld POV, Post-Episode: s02e07 The Believer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:07:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mandaloria593/pseuds/Mandaloria593
Summary: Just how many credits did Mando have on the table? How serious was he about getting back the kid? Migs calls his bluff. He won’t do it again.
Relationships: Migs Mayfeld & Din Djarin
Comments: 9
Kudos: 207





	Helmed Man's Bluff

**Author's Note:**

> SPOILERS ABOUND for Chapter 15: The Believer.

Migs put the stolen cruiser on autopilot and propped up his feet on the dashboard. 

He exhaled loudly. 

His newfound freedom was a heady thing. He’d hoped for it, sure, but he hadn’t wanted to hedge his bets. Still, he’d gotten the job done and won over the marshal—and wasn’t she a piece of work?—with his parting shot. 

He wasn’t surprised Mando hadn’t asked him to join for part two of his little vendetta. After what happened—after what Migs _saw—_ he was pretty sure Mando wanted to put as many parsecs between them as possible. Out of sight, out of mind. 

Migs shrugged. Whatever worked.

He still couldn’t believe the metal-plated mynock had actually done it. 

Strike that. He knew from the moment Mando stepped out in that hideous transport trooper getup that the guy was all credits in on the sabaac table. He’d tried to prepare Mando for the inevitable in the hauler. Conversation wasn’t Migs’ forte. Mando was touchy—always had been—and Migs could admit he enjoyed trying to get under his plating. 

Mando’s self-righteousness had always rubbed Migs the wrong way. Mando seemed like his “way” made him better than everybody else. Migs hadn’t bought it. Migs could call a bluff when he saw one. 

He called Mando’s bluff on Morak.

That’s not to say that he’d intentionally fouled up so that Mando had to be the one to use the facial recognition terminal. Migs hadn’t counted on running into his erstwhile commander. 

At the end of the day, Migs was right: Mando wasn’t above everybody else. When he had to, Mando got down in the muck like the rest of the dregs that slogged their way across the universe. 

And that wasn’t a criticism. No. A kinship. Cold recognizes cold. Bastard recognizes bastard. That’s all anybody was—bastard-coated bastards with bastard filling.

It was a backwards compliment, in a way, because it meant that Migs wouldn’t cross Mando again—not like he had on the prison ship. Too dangerous. A man who won’t compromise his principles is a man who will give up when he finds a line he won’t cross. Now, Migs knew there wasn’t any line Mando wouldn’t cross for that kid. 

Migs wished him luck.

He wouldn’t want to get on Mando’s bad side again.

That is, if Mando survived this insane raiding party of his. Going after a moff . . . that took guts. Steel ones. Migs supposed if anyone had unbreakable metal entrails, a Mandalorian did. _This_ Mandalorian did.

As much as Migs had thought he’d want to take a few potshots at Mando for sinking to his level—for getting his hands as dirty as Migs—the moment had gone differently.

His spiteful satisfaction at seeing Mando take off the helmet to use the terminal was brief. When Valin Hess approached Mando, Migs had gone over to help ensure their mission succeeded, yeah, but the Brown Eyes moniker was a _taunt—_ a pointed acknowledgement that Migs had something to hold over Mando. It wasn’t until Migs perceived how badly Mando was floundering at answering Hess that he recognized the desperate courage for what it was. Unmasked, the man’s fathier-in-headlights expression was a contradiction: part panicky, part resolute. Migs’ unkind amusement suddenly sat wrong in his chest. Instead, he wanted to help, to step out on a ledge as if to say, see here, you’re not the only one who’s willing to get uncomfortable. 

Of course, Migs hadn’t initially intended to expose himself quite as much as he had. But the overwhelming need to spill his guts seemed like the best way to accomplish everything at once––take the heat off Mando, offer Mando something to hold over him in return, and engage Valin Hess. But then the tumbling tirade of pain and anger careened him forward like a ship in a nebula storm, and there was no stopping it. 

He hadn’t wanted to stop it. 

Once unleashed, Migs knew how the conversation would end: Hess with a blaster bolt through his heart. 

Mando had seemed surprised by his outburst, but Migs didn’t know why. How else could it have gone? 

It hadn’t compromised the mission. It became part of the mission. Tearing it all down. Lighting up the rhydonium in a final _e chu ta_ to his old life. 

Honestly, Migs wasn’t sure why the New Republic was so wary of former imperials. They were _former_ for a reason. Hunting active remnants, Migs understood. Hunting a guy like him? Waste of time. Their interests temporarily aligned. 

And that’s how it was with Mando, too. Their orbits had temporarily aligned. But the alignment passed, and Migs rather hoped he didn’t run into him again. Brown Eyes had all his credits on the table. And this time, he wasn’t bluffing. 

**Author's Note:**

> Any Scrubs fans? The Office Space reference got me thinking of John C. McGinley.


End file.
